After The Fall
by EroseN
Summary: It's becoming harder and harder to keep a happy face on. After he left me, I didn't feel it. I was fine. But now things are hard. My limp is back, worse than before. My hands have started shaking again. (This may turn into Johnlock, so it's rated M just in case. . )


**Alright, it's official, I do take my frustration out on fictional characters. Just a little drabble for John about after Sherlock left. Well, I found it sad. Anywho, please read and review and let me know how to make it better! Shall I do another chapter? ^.^**

* * *

It's becoming harder and harder to keep a happy face on. After_ he_ left me, I didn't feel it. I was fine. But now things are hard. My limp is back, worse than before. My hands have started shaking again. I look down at the black coffee in my hand. It's trembling, little ripples running across the surface. Normally my hands don't shake under stress. I suppose this is different. A different kind of stress. This is the stress of waiting.

It's only been two months since _he_ left me. It feels like a life time. It's hard to keep my face in an uplifted expression. My eyebrows want to furrow, my eyelids want to fall. I just want to sleep. There's nothing for me anymore. It's surprising how much _he_ could have affected my life in such a short amount of time. I hadn't even known him for two years. Last week Harry drove me to my therapist. She thought I should be grieving. The truth is, I can't stop. I can't stop to think. I just have to go on with my life and hope I can forget. Today I'm supposed to go see her, Ella, my therapist. She wants to hear me talk about _him._ That insuferable git. My best friend. I'm standing in front of her door. I suppose I should go in. I take a deep breath, steeling myself and putting on my normal face. It says, _thank you, I'm fine. No, I'm perfectly happy. I'm well adjusted to my new life._ I open the door and walk in confidently, my cane tapping the floor every other step. I repeat a mantra to myself. _I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine._ In time with my feet hitting the floor. She opens the door for me, a happy greeting. I do the same for her. _Yes, I'm fine. How are you?_ I can tell she sees right through me, but she waits until I'm sitting down to begin talking to me. She sits, pad of paper balanced precariously on her lap. I cross my legs and arms, folding in on myself, protecting myself.

"Are you okay, John?" She asks the question everyone's been asking. I nod. She waits, expecting me to say something. I try.

"I'm fine. I mean- I mean- I don't- I don't know." Great, I know have a stutter to add to my list of physical symptoms. I try again. "Yes. I'm fine." We both know I'm lying.

"John. You need to talk about this. It doesn't have to be to me, but I think I'm one of your best options right now." I sigh.

"He was my best friend. What else do you want me to say?" I'm better now. I'm controlling my response. She looks at me sadly.

"You're grieving. I'm sure there are some things that need to be said. You told me last time there were so many things you wanted to tell Sher-" I cut her off.

"Please, don't- don't say his name." I can't handle it right now. After his funeral, I couldn't bring myself to say his name. I couldn't even go back to our-no-my- flat. I can't walk around London anymore because there are so many people with short dark curly hair or long coats. It seems everything reminds me of him. She nods. She's still waiting for me to say something.

"I can't. Not right now." Even to me my voice sounds dull, flat, monotonous. I sound hollow. That's basically how the rest of our meeting went. Her asking me questions, me either refusing to answer or giving some answer that both of us know is a lie. She doesn't push me though.

I leave the building. It's dark out now. I've been invited out to drinks... again. People seem to think I shouldn't be alone. Truth is, I'm not alone. I wish I was. I'm haunted by _him._ Even my new flat has dark corners where I think I see his coat turn or his bright eyes flashing as he walks away. I stand there, on the side of the road, debating where I should go next. Maybe I will just go home. I don't know if I can deal with more people right now. I catch a cab, give the directions to my new flat. _221B Baker street._ It almost slips out of my mouth. I stop myself quickly. I can't dwell on this.

I stand in front of my door. Someone's been here. The door handle is turned at a different angle than I usually leave it. I don't really care, but I suppose I should be careful opening the door. I smell food as I enter and let out the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. Probably just Harry or Mrs. Hudson dropping off something. Mrs. Hudson was more likely. If it was Harry it would be store bought, no doubt about it. I was forced to make copies of my keys for both Harry and Mrs. Hudson because they didn't trust me on my own after _his _death. I walk into the kitchen and find a homemade casserole sitting on the counter. I'm not hungry, but courtesy tells me I should at least try a little. I put it on a clean plate and go to sit in front of the television. Yet another night spent watching crap telly and playing with my food. I know I won't eat much of it, but every night I bring it out like a good boy. Everyone can see that I'm getting thin, almost sickly, but no one will say anything. They're all worried that anything they say is going to set me off. There's some stupid reality show on and one of the contestants is laughing. He looks nothing like _him _but something about his laugh and the way he holds himself cuts into me and leaves my chest stripped open. I turn the telly up so none of my neighbors will hear me before I curl up into a ball on the couch and hold my arms together, trying to keep myself from falling apart. The tears are falling again. You'd think there's a certain number of tears one person is permitted for a lifetime, so I must be stealing them from another person. I've cried more than my fair share lately_. _Never in front of anybody else, never where anyone else can worry. Sometimes I just can't hold it in anymore. Sometimes the sadness and loneliness just overwhelms me and I have to get away.


End file.
